


Heart's Desire

by LysSerris



Series: One-Shot [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bellamione Cult Ilvermorny Cup, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Fluff, One Half of a Paired One Shot, One Shot, based off a prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 10:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20329837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysSerris/pseuds/LysSerris
Summary: "I will claim the winner of this contest as my own, and in return they will claim me.Good luck,Hermione Granger"





	Heart's Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly-More-Than-Minimal Editing, still too many comma's for my liking.
> 
> This is the second pairing to "Feathered Delights", work based off a prompt.

Bellatrix hated cats.

She’d hated them ever since she was old enough to swear and had spent _ years _ loathing the little creatures. As she grew older her attitude towards them had remained the same; her belief that the mangy little fleabags were far more destructive than dogs, less companionable than a bird, and always wanting to be near before suddenly retreating to remain far. They were an annoyance she’d never learned to stand, and one that she wouldn’t so long as she had any say about it. For over forty years that had lasted her all well and good, her stance on them keeping her from having to bear their tiresome presence.

Until Hermione Granger came to town.

Granger was a lovely woman, though younger than her by nearly half; twenty-five to her own forty-three. She’d bustled in from somewhere farther up north than Bellatrix had ever gone before, Quebill or Hogsmeade or some other such little hovel, and moved on down to Godric’s Hollow with her pretty head filled up to the brim with lofty deals and her coffers nearly overflowing with gold. As Bellatrix understood it the grand plan had been to open a marvelous little bookshop of Granger’s own design and quickly fill it up with wondrous tomes and fantastic grimoires. Granger had indicated that she wasn’t very picky about what she stocked, so long as it piqued her interest. She’d been willing to take on old and dusty tomes as well as long forgotten one-offs, newer works on medicine and machinery from across the great Ocean and even the oft banned complete histories of Ludlan’ and Tellemere. 

And by all accounts it wasn’t anything close to being considered a ‘bad’ plan. The little township of Godric’s Hollow desperately needed something to break up the scenery and monotony, something for someone to shop and browse and loiter at that _ wasn’t _ Riddle’s General Store, wasn’t the Tavern or Weasley’s Wheezes. They needed something that was new, fresh, _ interesting! _

And Granger had arrived to deliver them just that. 

If only the idiotic inhabitants beyond herself could realize that. To say they were less than thrilled with the newcomer in their midst was the understatement of the century, the downplay of the millennium. The town as a whole had looked down their noses at the potential hidden within the woman’s mind, practically spitting on the idea of anyone without a twig and berries _ owning _ their own shop. And Bellatrix had known that, of course. She’d learned that lesson the hard way over a period of two years, two young and naive years that had turned her hard and brittle and splintered by the end.

When she’d first arrived to do the same the simpletons of the town would mutter after her passing, ‘Who does she think she is? Riddle’s shop carries everything, why even bother?’.

But bother she had, setting herself up while outside they looked in and whispered, ‘A woman will never be able to manage all the inventory! Think of the troubles she’d have with stocking!’.

Ridiculous drivel, the whole lot of it.

With a single-minded purpose she’d forced herself to smile at their snide comments and pithy remarks until she’d finally managed to open her little shop and fill it from wall to wall with all the items Riddle couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stock. After months and months of hard, backbreaking work she’d finally managed to turn a profit. Soon enough after that it had become a frequent stop by customers of all shapes and sizes, each one looking for something different. Some were older men, looking to put the pep back in their step, some younger women, looking for beauty in a tin can; others she wouldn’t have thought about before, arriving to ask her for bits and pieces that would work towards fulfilling darker needs. And in the end she’d made solid customers of them all by the time they walked out her door, their pockets laden with goods and her till spilling over with gold. 

Or so she’d thought.

Riddle, the blasted ingrate that he was, had remained her greatest detractor throughout those short two years, and by far he’d been the single most vocal as well. After only two summers had passed he’d managed to agitate the local town governors into pulling all her permits, labeled her very business fraudulent, and in the end he’d even managed to get the damned business stolen from her in its entirety. When all was said and done she’d stood alone, in mourning, at the back of a crowd that was loudly vying to bid on the remains of her livelihood. Her heart had shattered when Riddle was left standing tall and triumphant as he walked away with her life.

Bugger the man, flog his friends, and damn all the backwards thinking that he stood for.

All this information, and more, was foisted as open and freely given advice to the young and pretty lady who’d come down to their meager hovel with golden ideals and a personality to match. 

“Naive,” Bellatrix had said. 

“Optimistic,” Granger had countered, her face bright and smiling and a laugh caught in her throat. When Bellatrix had failed to respond with a witty retort it set her off even further, her warm eyes dripping wonderful tears that could melt the coldest and blackest of hearts.

In the end they’d gotten along quite well, for the most part. Oh, they’d argue every now and then, mostly over random things but always in a good naturedly fashion, always making up right after with soft words and warm hands clasped in shared understanding. They may have had different ideas and ideals but above that all they just simply seemed to _ click. _ When the first of many shipments began to arrive at Granger’s doorstep she’d shown up bright and early to help the woman with stocking and fixing the shelves, spending hours on her hands and knees to label and organize the incoming mass of paper and bindings. Her fingers had ended up crisscrossed with paper cuts and bruises had blossomed all over her knees, all for a smile from the beautiful woman. Through it all they harbored a shared understanding nurtured on different experiences but similar hopes, similar likes and wishes held in secret.

But the one thing Bellatrix never quite understood was Granger’s love of cats.

The little beasties practically flocked to Granger, and she to them, saving as many as she could from living out on the streets on meager scraps and wildlife. She even started up with the doctor in town to snip the little Toms and prevent unwanted tides of them from overtaking the local land. Something about the birds, she’d said, how the little mongrels could eat almost all of them. That little lesson only served to push Bellatrix even further away from liking the little creatures.

But that was Granger; just the kind of forgiving soul that sought out peace and kindness for everyone and everything. 

Bellatrix should have known it was too simple. Had been too sweet. The woman was smart, learned beyond her years, beautiful beyond a worldly description, and had the personality of a high bred woman mixed with the humor of a jester. In essence, she was perfect.

It shouldn’t have taken her longer than a month to realize what was really happening between them, the silent touches and side eyes hidden by blushes. She should have been quick to put a label to the heat that burst forth from her chest whenever she walked into the shop in the mornings. The smile that flickered to life on her face as she heard the tinkle of that little bell. That slick warmth that filled her with tingles and lightheadedness.

But it did.

Soon enough the woman had suitors every hour of every day, a group of pompous men in gaudy clothing puffed up like peacocks and strutting around like so many beasts in rut. They came to her for her riches, for her beauty, so eager and attentive now that her little escapade had borne fruit; now that her coffers depths had been proved out. Each day brought more to her shop than the last, and not a single one there to purchase or peruse. The nuisance continued to gain strength over time until she’d felt the need to vacate Granger’s shop entirely and bid the auburn woman farewell while wishing that the men beside her were spontaneously disemboweled.

She shouldn’t have left. It was the distance she’d created that ended up doing her in.

Granger was kind to all, her prospective suitors and detractors alike, but in the end even she had a breaking point. 

After a particularly nasty fight over who would have the honor of proposing broke out in the middle of her shop (between the arrogant Weasley and Potter Heirs no less), she’d kicked them all out and closed up shop for good. Business as usual the one moment, closed and boarded the next. 

And the morning after as well.

All the lights were put out, no wisp of smoke rose from her chimney, each and every personal caller or prospective man of Honor was left outside to mind her porch while cats rubbed around and through their legs; never a sound from inside and not a single sight of Granger.

It was an oddity for sure, one that suddenly had the whole town caught up within its grasp. Men despaired at the loss of her beauty, women at the scandal of it all, and Riddle for the potential fortune he had lost. From the high-born to the low, her detractors and her suitors, each and every soul within Godric’s Hollow had one thought, and one thought only, on their minds.

_ Where had Hermione Granger gone? Where had the young bookkeeper run off to? _

No one knew.

In the following week that passed the fervor only seemed to grow and grow until eventually someone complained enough to the local constables that Heir Potter himself was sent down in search of the woman. He’d looked proper ashamed as he made the long walk from the jail and on down Diagon Street, his face at the ground and a slouch in his step. When he arrived he first attempted to break the door down after his calls went unanswered, bashing his arm and shoulder against the heavy oaken frame. After that failed to yield any results he’d resorted to using a rock against the glass of her windows, a failure again. It all remained solid and unscratched.

The next morning brought the town a reprieve from the madness, though further inspection proved to only flame it higher. 

There, upon her solid wooden door and placed at such a time that no one had seen a thing, was a single sheet of parchment. The paper itself was white and crisp, not yet weathered by time and still smelling sweetly of the perfumes she used to wear, tacked onto the door with a silver nail. Written upon it in a beautifully red calligraphy that brought warmth to Bellatrix’s heart was the last thing anyone had expected.

_ ‘So many of you have wanted me, coveted me, for _ ** _things_ ** _ that I possess. So I’ll give you all one option to try, for I am tired of wading through the muck in hopes of finding one worth my words. _

_I, Hermione Granger, do hereby reply _**_‘No’_** _to all future requests for my hand in Marriage. None who come to my shop will walk away with anything other than the derision of my companions._

_ There is still however a way for those who would wish to court me. _

_ First; I know that my fondness for the felines of Godric’s Hollow is well-known. I know you may think I don’t hear you gossip about my love for nature of all shapes and sizes, but I love them all the same. There are however a few that I treasure more than the others, and one of them I treasure above all. They are a key to my heart. _

_ Second; My door will remain locked, my windows will remain bolted shut. No brute force will allow you entrance. I will not make my presence known until someone has found a way inside. _

_ Third; I will claim the winner as my own, as they will claim me. _

_Good luck, _

_ Hermione Granger’ _

The puzzle, if it could be called that, gave nearly everyone who read it reason to pause and wonder. What did it mean? Was the key metaphorical? Did she intend for them to find it and enter alone? The woman had always loved to read, maybe she had taken the lines from a book? Was it empty words to mask her abandonment of the town? 

Where, and what, was the key?

“The Cats!” Riddle’s loud voice had carried long and far, “It’s obviously referring to the felines she so loved; one of _ them _ must have a key! And it is likely that this key,” and then he congratulated himself on a finely deduced puzzle, “Must open the shop, and the one to enter shall have her!”

As a mob they all set off at once to tear apart the countryside in their search of her precious cat, whichever of the legion that was. Bellatrix remained behind to watch their efforts with a thinly veiled derision, her lips set into a thin line and black eyes burning with hidden fire. She was careful about revealing the intensity of her hatred for them all, all pleasant smiles and small talk as she instead decided to revel in what little entertainment she could get. 

She sat outside on the marble wall that separated her property from the street with a cup of lukewarm coffee by her side (with cream and sugar of course, she was no heathen), and a black parasol perched high over her head to shield her from the ever unpleasant summer sun. The suitors, mostly men and only some women, would parade all about in thick gangs as they tore after any feline unfortunate enough to have the luck of being spotted. Their cries of ‘Halt!’, ‘There he is!’, going unheeded by their four-footed targets.

Days turned into weeks, and with the passage of time the methods for apprehending their targets changed as well. No longer were the mobs running after them with open hands and crudely built nets, now they turned to steel and flint, ropes and cord.

Riddle was the first to start laying out traps after he’d spent one afternoon devising a rather ingenious little device. It was a long and narrow tube through which there were two entrances, a piece of bait left in the middle, and a trip wire made from twine and shuttered steel to close upon the hapless creatures when they went inside. He paid attention to the cats habits and strung his trap deep in the middle of the night, careful to disguise his scent and cover his tracks. Then he simply returned to the tavern in the center of the town to boast and brag, so heavily and so loudly, that he would have the cat come noon tomorrow, and with it Granger’s heart and fortune.

Bellatrix had gotten up early the next morning to settle on her porch in search of shade, eyes on the woods and Riddle’s ridiculous swagger as he trotted off to check his traps. With rapt attention she saw him startle and alight to the first in a row behind a line of bushes.

Riddle was single-minded in his approach and the rattling sound of paws scurrying against the inside of the tube deafened him to all precaution. The beast was pounding for reprieve from the darkened interior and when he flipped the latch to release a door his blunder became immediately evident.

A black and white monstrosity made the single most hideous squeal that Bellatrix had ever heard, its cries lighting up the trees as flocks of birds swiftly fled, before it tried barreling out the only open end and straight into the waiting face of Riddle himself.

If anyone ever asked why old man Riddle had a milky eye and seemed to smell faintly of tomatoes, well, the townsfolk never gave up the chance to tell newcomers of his folly.

\---

Weasley was the next to try a different tactic. 

He boldly whistled a cheery tune as he left the General Store with a bundle of wooden staves and a shovel tucked tightly beneath his arm, a roll in his step and eyes filled with greed. Truth be told he had a rather horrific way of going about it. 

He promised the furry horde with death, rather than just imprisonment. 

He’d learned from Riddle that it was dangerous to dispatch them at a later date, that killing the creatures outright was an easier way to go about than trapping them. Safer for himself as well. He dug deep pits, nearly up to his own height, and sharpened his staves until they would pierce even the toughest of leather. Each was hammered home with a rough-hewn jig and covered up with branches and leaves, the entrances hidden and tops littered with bait and blood.

Now, Bellatrix herself held no particular affection for any animal over any other, save maybe crows and ravens, but even she couldn’t stomach the death or dismemberment that Weasley seemed so intent on doling out so carelessly. Luckily for her sensitive disposition the cats were smarter than the man.

They danced around the holes he’d dug and sniffed out his scent wherever he had walked, weaving wide paths away from him and around the pits. It brought a smile to her face each morning she saw him out to check his holes, each time he’d open the top to find nothing more than dirt and wood and disappointment. It seemed she wasn’t alone in her amusement, for not even three days into his madness did a large auburn cat decided to perch with her and observe his lousy attempts at hunting. 

The rest of the hunters seemed incredibly intent on taking down any cats alone and off of houses, those out of reach and who would run as soon as they heard commotion. So this cat was safe, or as safe as it could be during the day at least, and had chosen her porch as its favored haunt. It kept a distance from her at the beginning and seemed almost as if it respected her private space, always darting away if she made too sudden a movement before turning around to watch her with oddly beautiful golden eyes.

Their odd little camaraderie continued on for days and then weeks, until it finally changed when Weasley’s game eventually got the best of him.

The problem with digging as many holes as Weasley had dug was that eventually, if they were shielded from view well enough, they would catch something unintended. And when poor old man Goyle was out on the hunt during one fine summer morning, well, he found a bit more than he’d intended. The town doctor made the call that he hadn’t even felt the staves that killed him, sharpened as well as they were and heavy set as he had been. 

Constable Potter, one of the few who’d recognized how horrendous he’d been acting and stood apart from the hunt, had chained up poor dear Ronald before having him show him each and every hole. When each were found he was made to fill it, working at a back breaking pace until there was no chance at all that someone could ever be hurt by them again. From there he’d been sent packing to Azkaban; many tears shed between his massive family, finally gone to increase the town's intelligence by a factor of ten.

The day that Potter had walked down the street with Weasley in tow had to have been one Bellatrix’s better days; the sight setting her rolling with laughter and the cat finally wandering up to sit upon her lap. Their new status as somewhat-friends continued even as others continued to attempt to catch the cats, each blazing in with an idea and out in a flash of hurt, never even once coming close to catching their targets. They were all too nimble, all too quick, smart as lightning and ready to fight back with all the fury of a quickly uncoiled whip.

Her tentative friendship with the cat continued well on into summer as Bellatrix’s mood continued to sour when Granger never made a reappearance. She made her displeasure well-known to the only one who’d listen, and the auburn cat had taken all her words in stride. She would wax on at length about how she should have acted sooner, should have said something to the woman before she became caught up in the madness of the town’s lecherous heathens. She verbalized the wonder and delight she’d felt upon seeing those auburn curls dance about the woman’s shoulders whenever she would laugh, the curious honey gleam that flooded her eyes every time she’d smiled or spoke at length about a topic that absorbed her, and the smell of old books and fading pages that she’d worn like a prized perfume.

She missed Hermione, Gods damn her soul, and now she could see that in her hesitation she had thrown it all away. The cat remained silent throughout her tirades, not even meowing once, and had instead just looked at her with an intensity and intelligence that managed to bewilder her at times. Soon enough it was a regular occurrence that she’d sit in the middle of her lap, listen to Bellatrix bicker and tear herself down, and purr with a contented warmth that always managed to pull her from her dejection.

The town was still up in arms as to Hermione’s sudden disappearance but with each day turning up nothing new and no one any closer to finding the key, they lessened more and more. Over time they seemed as a whole to abruptly move on, some sorry few still looking for cats out the corner of their eyes, but no one moving to sprint feverishly after them. Life returned to normal, and Bellatrix along with it.

But in her heart she wept.

\---

One day, nearer Yule but not quite past Samhain, the morning chill was far too cold for her to stand. She’d opened the door, seen her breath frost over right in front of her face, and decided then and there to wait out the winter chill within her home. The cat, however, was still there. It had a curious look to its face, as if it was cross with her sudden decision to leave it all alone, and in a bout of pity she’d decided then and there to fully win over its affection. She cooed and knelt with pieces of fish and ham, calling to the cat over and over again in as soft a voice as she could muster until it finally came to the threshold of her home and stepped over.

“You’re the light of my lonely little life right now,” she told the feline as it wound between her feet, “Do make yourself at home. The one I cherished is gone for good now it seems, and so with her absence comes a darkness. Not that I’d replace her with you, nothing and no one could do that, but I do believe we could make each other’s day just a bit brighter.”

The cat, unable to speak as it was, instead began to purr and rub, delighted to be warm and housed with such fine company. With a smile on her face Bellatrix had retired to her sitting room and dropped down to lounge lengthwise along the settee, the cat jumping up with her to settle upon her lap. The warmth bleeding through her dress and the soft purring rumble of its chest was enough to convince her to let it stay, her arms up and hands behind her head as she mused aloud to herself.

“I wish I’d said the words I have now, that I’d been falling for her as hard as I was. I loved her, I do believe, but…”

The weight, which until then had been as present and steady as it could be while the cat listened quietly, began to shift with a sudden lightness before suddenly increasing. In a flash Bellatrix’s eyes opened wide just as two warm hands began to cup her cheeks.

It was the woman, Granger, _ Hermione; _ her skin all bronze and honey with a grin plastered to her face that sent Bellatrix’s heart whirling and beating within it’s blackened cage. Her look was punctuated by soft lips, bright eyes, happiness and mirth evident throughout.

“I wish you’d said that all back then as well, and that I had thought to do the same. It might have saved those poor old fools from the shame of running about town like a group of headless ninny’s.”

“It might have,” Bellatrix grinned and remained unfazed, having seen far odder sights in her many years upon this land. Her hands moved to rest atop Hermione’s bare skin, fingers reveling in the solid warmth of the woman, “And to think I would have taken you as pet.”

“I would have preferred to be your familiar, but a pet would work as well. Beggars can’t be choosers and all.”

“Well I can still take you as both, if you’d consent to remain by my side.”

“Of course, do you think I went through all of this with any thought of leaving you upon my mind?”

“Of course not Pet, but I’d have something else in mind instead.”

When Hermione shot her a rather scandalized look, mirth hiding behind her eyes, Bellatrix drew one finger down her back to elicit a rumble and arching of her back and chest, the other tracing the delicate form of her lips and sharpened canines, “What’s the matter Pet? Cat got your tongue?”

**Author's Note:**

> Like Bellamione? https://discord.gg/pcfMU4F come on in and join the server!


End file.
